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Chapter Text

~**~

Harry James Potter was… stuck.

Stuck in the sense that he had no idea what he wants to do with his future, no idea where he fit in with his current life, and he is completely unable to understand choices he made in his youthful past. Here he is, in his seventh year of his Hogwarts education, his last year in his home away from home, and he isn’t enjoying a single second of it.

His mornings are filled with quidditch practices that he runs mechanically and participates in, in a rather lackluster fashion. The sport used to fill him with excitement and shoot unyielding doses of adrenaline into his veins. The desire to win and be the best used to propel him out of bed even for early Saturday morning practices. Now, he can’t even bring himself to care about maintaining the longest winning-streak in Hogwarts history. From his second year all the way to his recently passed sixth year, Gryffindor kept a tight grasp on the quidditch trophy, thanks to hard work, teamwork and a passionate and talented seeker - Harry Potter, himself.

Only a month into his last school year and Harry struggles every day to get out of bed and attend the practice schedule he created.

It’s no secret that everyone expects him to run headfirst into an explosive and successful career within the Ministry of Magic as an auror, donning the regal robes that command respect and speak for themselves. His father, his mother and his god father are all prominent members of the esteemed group of highly-skilled witches and wizards. Ever since he’d been a young boy his family filled his head with great tales of their adventures, enthralling retellings of their heroics, and they never failed to tack on that Harry would someday have his own tales to share with them, propelling the highly impressionable young boy onto a narrow-minded path of legacy. 

Now, privately, there is nothing Harry wants less than to be stuck in a never-ending battle against resilient evil. There is no rest , there is no reprieve . The number of times Harry was shaken awake in the middle of the night and handed off to his godfather and Uncle Moony so his parents could run out and save the day, leaving behind young Harry to wonder if he’d be made an orphan as he slept restlessly, was too many . The paranoia, the chaos, the injuries , didn’t seem worth it anymore. Harry spent all of his young life witnessing the toll it took on his parents, on their marriage, on their ability to function when things weren’t fast-paced and laced with danger.

How is he supposed to tell his parents that their dreams of Harry fighting the good fight alongside them wasn’t what he wanted anymore?

Harry’s one and only relationship is also causing him turmoil, but only in a way that there isn’t any turmoil. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are end game , inevitable, and written in the stars, according to their families, according to Witchling Weekly , and according to their schoolmates.

They’d been thirteen and twelve when proximity and familiarity conjured a desire to date, fourteen and thirteen when their mothers began planning a fairytale wedding without any input from Harry, fifteen and fourteen when a nicked bottle of firewhiskey caused curious hands to wander and awkwardly attempt to take a step neither of them were fully committed to taking, sixteen and fifteen when the incredulous expression on their friends’ faces spurred a stubborn desire to lose their virginities to one another, seventeen and sixteen when they went many summer weeks without communicating even once.

Harry doesn’t feel drawn to Ginny, doesn’t feel desperate to be around her nor to initiate intimacy. The last month of their summer vacation was spent with any and everyone else except each other. Quidditch matches with friends, trips out of the country, shopping escapades, camping, you name it. Neither of them attempted to involve the other with their social lives and the fact that, that didn’t even bother Harry made it all the more clear that he would be disappointing his parents in more than one way when it came to the future they planned for him.

Usually, if someone is bothered by something, troubled by anything, they’d take it to their closest friends. Harry, unfortunately, doesn’t have that luxury when it comes to the more pressing matters of his life. Ron Weasley is his best mate, his brother since they were seven and being chased around the garden by irritated gnomes. Both young boys had dreams of fame and adventure, agreeing that being aurors together was what they’d do after school. While Harry’s passion for the occupation withered and died pathetically, Ron’s passion burned brighter and brighter as the time came closer and closer. It certainly doesn’t help matters at all that Hermione Granger has penned a clear path for their careers, where her two favorite boys would be brave and renowned high level aurors to co-exist alongside of her transformational and efficient rise to Minister of Magic.

Consider it absolutely impossible for Harry to disclose to his oldest friend that he simply doesn’t want to be with his sister anymore, for no reason other than crippling indifference.

“Harry,” Hermione’s exasperated voice cuts through his racing mind, pulling the teen from his rapid decline into depression.

Harry blinks back to the present, his vision focused on the plate of bangers and mash that he was more so pushing around his plate rather than actually eating. If he stops and thinks about it, he wouldn’t be able to recall the last time he enjoyed a complete and proper meal. Eating takes a backburner to homework and extensive naps that generally morph into twelve-hour long sleeps.

Harry’s dull green eyes slide up and over to lock with Hermione’s annoyed hazel gaze. A semblance of something akin to sheepishness settles over Harry’s expression more out of habit and not because he feels any remorse at having drowned out an undoubtedly long-winded soliloquy by the young woman who seems to love the sound of her own voice. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I was saying,” Hermione says with a huff. “Ron and I are going to head back to the common room to work on this transfiguration essay, are you coming along?”

Harry and Hermione both completely ignore Ron’s whine about still having days until the assignment is even due, knowing he’ll tag along with his girlfriend and start the essay regardless. The last thing Harry wanted to do was listen to his best friends bicker and pick at one another for the next few hours in a convoluted form of foreplay, so the lie rolls off of his tongue rather thoughtlessly. 

“I’ve got to do some research for potions, I’ll catch up with you lot later.” 

Harry considers himself extremely lucky that he’d had a moment of insanity and signed up for double potions for his seventh year, even though the auror department only requires O’s or EE’s on OWLs for potions and anything additional would just be unnecessary. The moment that Ron achieved the needed grade on his OWLs, the redhead had loudly declared that he wouldn't be stepping foot in another potions class for the rest of his days. Hermione also decided to forgo the additional potions classes and instead dedicated her time to Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. Somewhere, in the far recesses of Harry’s mind, the dark-haired wizard chose his timetables based on those facts, alone.

Without waiting on an affirmative, Harry grabs his bag from the floor and moves away from the dining table. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Ginny sitting with Dean Thomas and laughing loudly at a joke the other wizard must have told.

Once the doors of the Great Hall close behind him, effectively cutting the noise level from a ten to a solid one, Harry releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and lets his shoulder drop from their tense position by his ears. He walks absently to the library, knowing that the weather was too nice and the school year too newly in session to have anything other than overachievers and loners taking up space in the massive structure. The darkest and most secluded part of the library is located in the very back of the seemingly-endless room, where the natural sunlight doesn’t reach, relying on magically lit sconces for a source of reading light. The small alcove has only enough room for one rectangular table that seats a maximum of four students, if they’d like to be piled upon one another. Due to the lack of light and the extremely close proximity to the entrance of the restricted section, there seems to always be a chilly temperature that directly contradicts the sunny and warm environment of the rest of the library. 

Harry thinks this spot is perfect . He won’t be bothered, as no one really comes this far into the library and the little hovel is nearly silent. Without hesitation, Harry pulls out the seat closest to the wall and sags into the chair. He sits for a few minutes, just staring blankly at the opposite wall, wondering when he began taking so much solace in being alone . There was a time in the not-so-distant past when all he wanted was to be surrounded by his friends, his teammates, his fellow Gryffindors. But now, he just wants peace, craves the silence. He can’t help but sigh in frustration and despair.

Figuring he should actually work on his potions homework, Harry pulls his books and parchment from his bag. It was a miracle that Snape allowed him into this advanced level of potions, though he shouldn’t be too surprised. For whatever reason, the last year brought a serene calm to the usually enraged Potions Master. He still snarls at stupidity and admonishes laziness, but he wasn’t too keen on singling out and berating students not in his house any longer. Without the threat of a painful death looming, Harry had been able to greatly improve his potions skills to the point of earning a spot in the advanced potions class.

“Potter,” an irritated voice speaks, breaking the silence and causing Harry to flinch from the unexpected sound. 

Fellow seventh year Tom Riddle shimmers into view along with his books and study materials in the seat adjacent to Harry. The Gryffindor momentarily gaps at the sudden appearance of his schoolmate, but also at the effectiveness of the Notice Me Not charm. 

Tom Riddle is something of an enigma to Harry, now that he thinks about it. They’d been partnered together once during their first-year Herbology class and while Harry had been bubbling with excitement and talkative to a fault, the miniature version of Thomas G. Riddle, head of the DMLE, had calmly put his gloves on and proceeded to ignore all attempts at conversation in favor of tending to their assigned plant. The entire week of partnership, Tom managed to speak fewer than two sentences a day, until he upped the ante and proceeded to go on and speak no words to Harry for the next six years.

In the moment, Harry had been offended, positive that he hadn’t done anything to warrant the brutal brushoff. But it soon became clear that Tom Riddle didn’t socialize with anyone . The only time the student was heard speaking was when he was called upon during one of the few classes Harry shared with him and then sporadically when the Slytherin was chosen as his houses’ Prefect in their fifth and sixth year.

“Riddle,” Harry breathes out, heart pounding behind his ribcage from the startle the other student gave him. “I- I didn’t notice you there.”

Riddle’s dark brown eyes narrow at Harry as he opens his mouth to speak. “The charm is aptly named then.”

Harry nods dumbly, unable to focus on anything other than how deep the Slytherin’s voice must have gotten over this last summer. It was warm in a way that Harry thinks he could listen to Riddle read Hogwarts: A History from cover to cover and maintain Harry's attention the entire time, though there was also an underlying frigid sharpness that could easily cut diamonds. The student’s jaw was chiseled, cheekbones subtle but still noticeable. Riddle’s chestnut hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place and his eyebrows were manicured in a way that added an additional layer of sophistication to the young man’s face. 

“Must you sit here?” Riddle says when Harry fails to respond to his purposely rude quip. “I was quite content.”

Harry manages another absent nod, taking in the long column of Riddle’s throat, gaze traveling downward to look at the pristine condition the other student’s uniform was in, despite a full day of classes having just ended. Harry’s mind flickers to his own uniform, where he’d long since abandoned his tie, shucked off his outer robe and untucked his dress shirt. Compared to Riddle he must look like an utter and complete slob . His eyes lock onto the badge pinned to Riddle’s left lapel and Harry’s mouth opens without consulting his brain.

“You’re Head Boy?” he whispers with intrigue, his mind supplying that Riddle’s aloofness mixed with his outstanding academic record (a quality all heads and prefects were required to have) would make him the perfect fit for an authoritative position such as Head Boy.

Tom’s eyebrows knit together at the other student’s far away expression, unsure if Potter has mental deficiencies or if he’s just plain idiotic. “Obviously.”

Harry shakes away the thoughts of Riddle and how his drawl of the word sounds nearly as disdainful as Professor Snape’s does, addressing his earlier question that had fallen wayward. The sass that laces his words comes out completely unintentionally. “I’m already settled in, maybe you should stay visible and others wouldn’t disturb you.”

The expressiveness of Riddle’s eyebrows is astounding . With only a glance at the furrowed lines, Harry concludes that the other student would very well curse him if he thought he could get away with it. Call him absolutely mental, but that greatly amuses Harry. When the Slytherin speaks next, his words are clipped and dangerous. “I use the charm in order to not be disturbed, you bloody nimrod.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, m’Lord,” Harry shoots back in an exaggerated posh accent, dipping his head in a mock-bow. “I’ll surely take heed to not stumble upon you, when you’ve taken great care to hide yourself in the future.” 

Harry is so sure that the other student’s plush lips quirk up slightly in a muted sense of amusement, though the expression is quickly wiped away to make room for a pointed glare. Riddle regards him for a long moment before he huffs softly, giving his attention back to his books. “At least stay silent.”

The Gryffindor cheekily mimes the actions of zipping his lips, locking them and then tossing away the key. Even though Riddle’s gaze doesn’t stray from his books, Harry knows the other teen catches the action from the way deep hazel eyes roll over in exasperation. Sufficiently pleased with getting some form of the last word, Harry settles to work on his potions homework, feeling a bit lighter than before.

~**~

Harry hums softly to himself as he climbs the winding staircase to Gryffindor Tower, a slight bounce in his step. Surprisingly, after two whole hours of working in companionable silence with Riddle, Harry didn’t feel the need to choke down a Dreamless Sleep potion and pass out on his bed. The only thing he wanted to do is take a nice, hot shower and then slide under cool sheets, allowing sleep to take him into unconsciousness naturally for the first time in over three weeks. Harry takes his time washing his hair, goes the extra mile to exfoliate his skin, and dips into the flowery body oils that Sirius swears by, paying no mind to his roommates when he returns to their dorm room. He slides into his bed and lets the contrasting temperatures of his warm body and his cool bedding meld together to form a happy medium and spells his curtains closed.

It’s an utter shame that the moment he discards his glasses and tucks his wand underneath his pillow, his thoughts start to race. The only subject going round and round in his head is Tom Riddle . Harry starts to think back on the previous years and tries to piece together slivers of knowledge about the taller student. He doesn’t recall him celebrating a birthday, loud singing from housemates followed by cake and streamers sent by parents. He knows the other student isn’t on his houses’ Quidditch team. He’s pretty sure Riddle keeps to himself, because Harry can’t even place friends at the Slytherin’s side. The lack of information about Tom Riddle begs the question, what exactly does he do all year?

Intrigued by the other student, once more, Harry quietly slides the Marauder’s Map from under his pillow and fits his glasses back onto his face, wanting to see if Riddle was still out doing his rounds.

“ I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry whispers as he taps his wand to the parchment and the familiar script bleeds onto the once blank pages. It takes no time at all to spot the desired name floating down the southwest corridor of the castle’s third floor, stopping ever so often to probably check empty classrooms for naughty students. Harry stifles a chuckle when he thinks of how mortified he would be if Riddle caught him out of bed past curfew and being improper to boot. Though, in hindsight, Harry never had the urge to do something so reckless with Ginny, so the chances of actually being caught in that situation are absolutely zero.

Harry’s mind, completely in tunnel-vision, wonders briefly if he and Riddle share any classes this year. He will admit to being wholly distracted, blocking out the sea of faces that attended his classes with him the first month of school, so even if the other student is in any of his classes, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. 

With a note to himself to keep an eye out for the fascinating student, Harry begins to fold the map up and finally get some well-deserved sleep when his keen eyes catch two names that have no real reason to be together past curfew. There, on the second floor of an empty classroom, two names are nearly on top of each other as they float in a nondescript fashion.

Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas.

Chapter Text

***

I should feel something, Harry thinks to himself as he lays awake in bed, long after his roommates have headed down to breakfast. The lack of emotion, lack of reaction, to finding out that his girlfriend is cheating on him with one of the blokes that he shares his dorm with, is slightly concerning.

The second he spotted the names together at a time and place where there is no room for any other explanation outside of cheating , Harry calmly whispered mischief managed, tucked the map underneath his pillow, plucked his glasses off, and then promptly went to sleep. No denial, no justification, no wild thoughts tumbling through his head, just straight to sleep. A restful, dreamless sleep. When he’d woken up far earlier than necessary, he laid stagnant in bed, listening to his house mates rouse from sleep, grumble their way to the loo, complain throughout getting dressed, and eventually leave the dorm altogether. Harry had just laid there, curtain spelled shut, and staring at the ceiling.

To think Dean, quiet and unassuming Dean, was shagging his girlfriend right under his nose and then would simply return to their dorm and pretend to be his mate, is baffling. What’s even more baffling is that Harry doesn’t feel anything. It’s just a fact; Ginny is cheating on him. The fact spurs no emotion and probably won’t inspire any strong feelings in him, no matter how long he lays here and wills it to be so.

With that thought, Harry rolls out of bed at a time where going to breakfast isn’t an option anymore, and peacefully dresses himself, taking care to knot his tie correctly and tuck his shirt in all the way around. He attends his first class - Arithmetic - solemnly, making sure to sit farther away from Ron and Hermione’s usual table and stare out the window until class starts. He doesn’t know what to say to them.

Hey guys, how’s the weather? Oh, by the way Ginny’s cheating on me. Who’s ready for lunch?

The last thing he wants to do is cause a rift between his friends, or worse, have them take her side. In reality, there are no sides in this equation. She cheated, he didn’t. Clear cut and concise.

With a sigh, Harry opens his textbook, purposefully avoiding the questioning gaze of his two closest friends. He just wants to block it all out, pretend he didn’t find out, and go on about his life. It’s just not worth the hassle in his opinion, and he refuses to even entertain the idea of forgiveness . The damage is done and now, he just wants to forget he ever met Ginevra Weasley.

Time seems to go on slower than normal, which says a lot considering how horribly mind-numbing he usually finds Arithmetic, but Harry still manages to be one of the first out of the classroom when their professor dismisses them, all in an attempt to avoid conversation with his best friends.

The seconds tick by infinitely slower, if possible, through his next class which is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Luckily, Ron and Hermione normally pair together during this class anyway, so the questioning looks cease for the next hour and a half and Harry can pretend everything is normal as he grimaces through Neville’s slow reaction times and jerky wand movements. 

Thank Merlin that Neville wants to work with plants and not pursue anything that would cause him to have to think on his feet. He’d be completely done for.

There’s a fleeting moment of guilt where Harry is ecstatic that a bone breaking curse aimed at Neville’s arm ends up hitting the clumsy wizard in the hip, thanks to his own flailing panic, solely because their defense professor instructs Harry to escort his partner to the infirmary. Usually he’d hand off the broken wizard to Poppy and retreat back to class so he can commence stuffing about with Ron, but he hangs back this day, offering to rub the anti-bruising salve on his muddle-minded friend who’s giggly and extra uncoordinated thanks to the high dosage of pain reliever given to him.

Once DADA is officially over, Harry calmly walks back to the now empty class to collect his belongings and shuffles off to his last class before lunch - Herbology. The expectation is to be just as miserable in this class as he was in his first two of the day, but the weight on his shoulders seemingly evaporates as he walks into the oversized greenhouse and immediately locks eyes with Tom Riddle.

Riddle, adamantly sticking to character, holds his gaze as his neutral expression doesn’t waiver which only makes Harry’s tiny smile widen to a grin. He distractedly gives a thumbs up to Professor Sprout as she acknowledges his lateness and shares that his classmates informed her of his assistance with Neville. He makes his way over to the Slytherin that is standing alone even in a small cluster of other students.

“You’re in my class,” Harry says in a low tone, surprise and pleasure evident in his voice as he stops to stand next to Riddle in the back of the group. Professor Sprout begins her lecture on today’s plant, Lovage, holding up the bushel of foliage with a gloved hand and stressing that even the slightest excretion of the plant is enough to cause a reaction.

The only acknowledgment of Harry’s statement is the slightest shrug of Riddle’s shoulder as he’s intensely paying attention to the lecture being given, unlike Harry. Never one to be deterred by one-sided conversations, Harry presses on. He leans closer to the taller student and whispers softly enough to not be overheard. “Are you in any of my other classes?”

Riddle’s eyes slide to him briefly, the budding annoyance in his dark orbs apparent, before he gives his full attention back to their lecturer. Harry has to bite his lip to refrain from laughing outright - the other student is so rude.

“I know you’re not in my Arithmetic class, since that’s with the Ravenclaws, same with my DADA block.” Harry points out, smartly, eyes trained on Riddle so as to not miss any miniscule display of emotion the taller male might show.

“Now, Lovage is a main ingredient in two very common draughts. Who can tell me which?” Professor Sprout calls out in question, holding the plant higher as if to jog memories. Harry doesn’t pay attention to which hands go up, but he is still looking at Riddle, who is standing in a relaxed stance, hands neatly folded in front of him.

“Ms. Granger, you may speak,” Professor Sprout says.

“It’s the Confusing Concoction or more commonly known as the Confusing Draught,” Hermione says smartly and audibly proud of herself, as per usual. Harry’s eyes widen as Riddle mouths the correct answer along with Hermione. 

“Excellent, five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Sprout aims a smile at Hermione and turns slightly to face the other side of the class. “Who can tell me the second most common draught using Lovage?”

Harry doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Riddle and the Slytherin seems intent on ignoring him. More hands go up, eager to answer and earn points for their house.

“Mr. Malfoy, go ahead.”

“That would be the Befuddlement Draught, Professor.”

Harry is entranced as he watches Riddle once again mouth the correct answer, as if it’s common knowledge. The Gryffindor is properly impressed at the other student’s intellect and also at the fact that he isn’t keen on bringing attention to his intelligence. Harry easily drowns out Professor Sprout while she commends Malfoy and awards five points to Slytherin in favor of whispering fervently to Riddle. 

“You’re brilliant,” Harry says resolutely, getting himself another eye roll from Riddle, though the taller male stays silent, still giving majority of his attention to the professor. “You know the answers, why didn’t you raise your hand?”

Riddle seems set on ignoring Harry, which is completely fine. Harry’s somewhat of a master at wearing people down. 

“What’re you, shy?” Harry teases, all in good fun, as he gently nudges Riddle’s arm with his shoulder. This seems to be the correct thing to say, as Riddle huffs out an irritated breath and murmurs back. 

“Of course not, I’m simply not desperate for pats on the head.” 

Harry files that information away before going full force into his plan of annoying Riddle enough to have a full conversation with him. He chances another nudge to Riddle’s shoulder and coos in a condescending way. “Not desperate, fine, but I’ll happily give you a pat for every right answer.”

Harry steels himself for some cutting retort, thoroughly enjoying the task of provoking the polished student. Riddle opens his mouth to respond only for Professor Sprout's voice to beat him to the punch.

“Mr. Potter,” the woman admonishes, drawing attention to the short Gryffindor. “Since your expertise allots the ease of side conversation, please name another draught Lovage is a key ingredient in.”

Panic races through Harry, knowing full well that he had no idea about the first two draughts, let alone another one. This could go one of two ways, he could confidently give the wrong answer and suffer snickers from his childish classmates or he could tell the irritated woman that he hadn’t the faintest idea and risk getting a detention this early into the school year.

“Invigoration Draught. ” comes an amused mumble from his left and it takes Harry every ounce of self restraint he has to avoid jerking his head up to gap at the Slytherin. There’s a high probability that this isn’t actually the correct answer, but also, Harry is aware he has no other options here.

“The Invigoration Draught, ma’am,” Harry answers nervously, holding his breath for the inevitable chastisement, only to be amazed when the rebuke doesn’t come.

“That is correct, Mr. Potter,” Professor Sprout says in surprise, but quickly sobers to continue on. “However, refrain from sidebar conversations unless you want to scrub cauldrons with Professor Snape. Understood?”

“Yes, professor.” Harry says dutifully, contrite enough to calm his professor. The woman moves on with her lecture.

Sufficiently cowered, Harry doesn’t speak out of turn again for the entirety of the lesson, though he does keep sneaking peeks at the Slytherin who continues to mouth the correct answer to every question for the duration of the lecture. At the end of class Harry is distracted only for a split second between Professor Sprout giving their reading assignment and class dismissal, but by the time he turns back around Tom Riddle is already halfway up the hill towards the building.

Slippery bastard, Harry thinks in amusement, vowing to keep an eye out for the intelligent student that so seamlessly blends into the background.

***

Unable to further avoid his friends, Harry finds himself sitting to Hermione’s left and directly in front of Ron during lunch later that day. He waves off Hermione’s inquiry on how he knew the answer to Professor Sprout's question and then ignores her entirely when she goes on to chastise him for speaking during the lesson in the first place. Instead, Harry focuses on shoveling food into his mouth, eager to make up for his missed breakfast.

Harry idly lets the bickering from his friends wash over him as he starts on his second ham sandwich, scooping a handful of chips onto his plate as well. He has half a mind to snag a third sandwich and take it with him for a pre-dinner snack when Ron’s voice cuts into his meat-filled psychosis.

“Easy there, mate,” Ron teases with a laugh, having just choked down a mouth full of Shepherd's Pie seconds before. “Gin’ll dump you if you start looking like Crabe and Goyle.”

All too easily, Harry’s food-fueled happiness dissipates due to one simple sentence. He’d actually been able to push the entire Ginny revelation out of his mind between bothering Riddle and stuffing his face, only for Ron to bring it back to the forefront of his consciousness.

“Honestly, Ronald! You shouldn’t make fun of anyone with the way you carry on!” Hermione snips, daintily stabbing a chip on her plate and dipping it into garlic sauce before popping the potato into her mouth.

“‘Mione, I’m bloody joking, ” Ron shoots back with a frown. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Harry’s trousers are smaller than Gin’s!”

Hermione humphs stubbornly but says nothing more, letting Ron sputter in an attempt to defend himself. Harry doesn’t comment either way, setting his half eaten sandwich down and glancing at the two of them discreetly.

Did they know ? He wonders, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Is it possible that Ron and Hermione knew Ginny was cheating on him?

Hermione shares a dorm with Ginny after all and she’s sure to have noticed the late night entries and exits. Ron shares a house with her, for Merlin’s sake! Isn’t it plausible that this fling started during the summer where Ron himself asked after their relationship, wanting to see how it was going. That, in itself, is out of character for his best friend.

Do they know? Probably, Harry concedes with a surprisingly small amount of disappointment.

“I’m going to finish my potions essay,” he says numbly, already halfway up from his seat when his friends start speaking over each other.

“I’m bloody joking , mate!” Ron calls out, stricken at the thought of having hurt his friend’s feelings. “She’d never leave you, come on .”

“That’s just great , Ronald,” Hermione snaps, letting her cutlery clatter loudly on her plate as she begins a long winded and impassioned speech on body shaming and how detrimental it is to the developing teen.

Harry just keeps walking out of the Great Hall, sparing neither of them another second. 

Harry wanders into the library a few minutes later, making a beeline for the dark little alcove where he hopes to find Riddle. He’s not sure why he’s taken such an interest in the Slytherin, but knows that annoying the other student is loads better than thinking about his problems.

The Gryffindor rounds the corner, smirking when all of the seats appear to be empty. He whistles an obnoxious tune as he takes his seat and drops his bag onto the floor by his feet. 

“ Merlin , I’m surely glad no one’s here to be disturbed by my whistling,” he says in faux-innocence, lacing his fingers onto the table. Harry keeps his gaze on the wall in front of him, trying desperately not to smile as he starts up on a jingle that he heard on the muggle TV set at home.

“That’s enough,” Riddle commands after less than thirty seconds of Harry’s jolly whistling, shimmering into view.

Harry feigns surprised, placing a palm over his heart as he turns wide eyes towards the other student. “ Riddle , I had absolutely no idea you’d be here.”

The Head Boy looks at him deeply unimpressed for a long moment before giving his attention back to his books. Harry snickers softly as he starts to pull out his own books. “You could just sit here like a normal person and I wouldn’t have to resort to such tactics to get you to show yourself.”

“ You could sit at any of the other many empty tables instead of here ,” Riddle says scathingly, hand scribbling notes onto his parchment.

“If I did that, who would keep you company?” Harry asks innocently. Riddle doesn’t respond and Harry is entertained enough to let him have a semblance of peace back as he starts on his own homework.

Harry pulls out his potions textbook and opens to the bookmarked chapter, sighing heavily at the complex but woefully useless potion they were going to start tomorrow.

Rat Tonic.

A full twenty-five minutes of studying is all Harry can manage before he pouts and lets his quill fall from his hand and onto his parchment. He chances a glance at Riddle, seeing how focused on his own task the student is and decides he just has to talk to someone .

“My girlfriend's cheating on me.” Harry reveals simply, eyes boring into the wall across from him. He misses the way Riddle’s hand freezes mid-script in surprise. The Slytherin seems to need a moment to summon all of his social skills before responding, so Harry easily stays silent.

Riddle places his quill onto the table perfectly parallel to his parchment and clears his throat before looking over to Harry and speaking in an awkward voice. “That’s unfortunate.”

Harry can’t help but let a tiny smile peek through when he turns and rests his head onto his palm, gazing at Riddle openly. “Is it?”

An expressive eyebrow raises in question. “Isn’t it?”

Harry answers after a brief pause. “Maybe not for the reasons you’re thinking, but sure, I guess so.”

Riddle stays silent as Harry gathers his thoughts and the Gryffindor is grateful because he’s not sure exactly how much he wants to share because despite his sudden interest in unraveling the enigma that is Tom Riddle, he will concede that they don’t actually know anything about each other. But, if Harry doesn’t feel he can talk to his best friends and he certainly isn’t desperate enough to talk to any of his parental figures, who else is he going to confide in?

“So… my girlfriend,” Harry starts off, before wondering if Riddle even knows who he’s dating. The other male answers his question by filling the short pause.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Riddle offers blandly, rolling his eyes when Harry looks at him surprised. “I don’t spread gossip or insignificant dribble, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know some things.”

Harry concedes the point with an apologetic smile. “We’ve been dating for some time and I use the term dating very loosely, but recently, maybe the last year or so we’ve just… stopped.”

“Stopped?” Riddle inquires.

“Stopped talking, stopped seeing each other, stopped really thinking about one another. I guess neither of us -  well, I’ll only speak for myself. I didn’t bother to break things off with her.” Harry rubs his neck sheepishly as he starts to hear how silly this all sounds. “It wasn’t because I wanted to be with her, I hadn’t wanted that for a while. I just didn’t think it was worth the… fallout.”

“The fallout from breaking up with her?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, absently twirling a lock of hair near his ear as he starts to ramble. “Honestly, I wasn’t worried about Ginny at all. I’m worried about how Ron and Mrs. Weasley will react. Ron’s been my best mate since forever and Mrs. Weasley is so excited for this huge fairytale wedding we’re supposed to have one day. I don’t want to lose either of them.”

Riddle is quiet for a long moment as he mulls over the confession. When he speaks it’s not careful, but it’s nowhere near cruel. “So, if I’m understanding right, you’re torn up over ending a relationship you don’t even want with someone who has cheated on you, all in the name of protecting the feelings of Ronald Weasley and his mother?”

Harry hesitates only for a split second and decides to voice his thoughts. He smiles sheepishly at the other student. “It sounds really stupid when you say it like that.”

Riddle nods tersely at the other student. “It should have sounded just as stupid when you rationalized it in your mind.”

Harry doesn’t even have a moment to interject indignantly before Riddle continues on. “So you’re worried about Weasley’s feelings, their mother’s feelings, most likely Ginerva’s feelings too if it were to come out that she is an infidel. My question is where do your feelings come into play?”

The question stops Harry in his tracks as he remembers that he hadn’t really had many feelings about the situation, maybe because he pushed them away in order to keep the peace. 

“I - well,” Harry starts unsure, he knows that he doesn’t appreciate Ginny cheating but outside of that, what else is there, really? “I guess I’m annoyed that she couldn’t just break up with me first, it’s not like I would have cared.”

Riddle is nodding patiently, hands folded onto the table in front of him. “So since you know now that she’s been unfaithful, rest assured that if Ron Weasley and his mother truly care for you, they’d hold no ill will in regards to the break up. What is holding you back?”

Harry bites his lip at the question, wondering exactly what is holding him back. It’s not his fault Ginny couldn’t stay faithful, it’s also not his fault that Mrs. Weasley and his own mother ran off with their own ideas of Harry’s future marriage. Similarly, it also wouldn’t be his fault if Ron decided to end their friendship over Ginny’s actions.  “Maybe… I just don’t want the drama, the chaos and finger pointing.”

“You’re nonconfrontational, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Riddle offers immediately. 

“I guess so, I would rather just be done with all of it minus the tough conversations.” Harry says softly. A small chuckle leaves his lips as he thinks long and hard about what he’d actually like to do. “I’d honestly like to just pick up and leave, let everyone else figure it out.”

“What’s stopping you?” Riddle asks seriously, causing Harry’s eyes to shift over to look at the other student. 

The question gives Harry reason to pause, his innermost thoughts of running away and starting over, living a simple safe life are his most closely guarded desires. Nothing would make him happier than to leave behind all the expectations, the pressure and the disappointment that would surely follow once everyone he holds near and dear figures out that he’s changed indefinitely. 

“History of Magic,” Harry shoots back jokingly, trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere. He flips his potions book closed and stacks his notes on top of the book, sliding his materials into his bag. Riddle wordlessly copies his actions and the silence makes Harry want to say more, so he does. “Thanks by the way, this is the most I’ve heard you talk ever .”

Riddle shrugs a shoulder, brushing off the thanks as he stands and pushes his chair in. He gives a cursory glance to his wristwatch. “We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

“ We ?” Harry asks as he slings his bag into his shoulder and scurries after Riddle, damning his shorter legs when he has to pick up the pace to catch up with his schoolmate. “You’re in this class too?”

Riddle only lets out a sigh in acknowledgment, probably having reached his word quota for the month, which Harry can respect. He simply grins and falls into step beside the other student as they make their way from the library and across the building to Professor Binns’ classroom. 

Harry feels loads better having talked things out with Riddle, so much so that he unconsciously sticks to the taller student’s side all the way to the vacant table near the back of the classroom. He only realizes the liberty he’s taken when he plops his bag onto the table and pulls out the chair, causing Riddle to look up at him in exasperation. 

“Potter, your friends are trying to get your attention,” Riddle mumbles, nodding towards the opposite side of the room. 

“I’m sitting here,” Harry says with a shrug, taking his seat without glancing over at the Gryffindors and starting to pull out his books and parchment. “You can call me Harry, after I’ve dumped my crazy on you it’s basically required.”

Harry gets great pleasure out of the look Riddle gives him, expression clearly indicating that the Head Boy thinks he’s completely mad. 

“We’re to be great friends, Tom ,” he says cheekily, aiming a sunny smile at his table mate and the other student glares at him viciously as Professor Binns picks up where they left off last week, just as droll as he usually is.

Chapter Text

~**~

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me we have potions together,” Harry snips as he and Tom exit the mentioned class the very next day.

Imagine Harry’s immense surprise after having to reassure his friends all night, during breakfast and throughout Transfiguration that he was not upset with them nor was he dropping them as friends, only to turn around and find out his new friend was also in his most difficult and longest class the very next lesson.

Harry chose to pretend Tom’s long suffering look when they met eyes was feigned , as he trotted over and claimed the open seat next to him.

“Three classes ,” Harry continues on his tirade, walking down the hallway at a slightly quicker pace to keep up with his long-legged counterpart. “You just wanted to surprise me, didn’t you?”

Tom doesn’t respond verbally but he does let loose an eye roll and subtlety picks up the pace of his steps as they turn down another corridor. Harry pauses his teasing when he starts to fall behind and he frowns slightly, knowing he’s not all that tall but he’s not that short to be continually trailing after Tom.

Harry lets out a snicker as realization lights up in his eyes. “You’re trying to ditch me,” he says gleefully, hiking his bag up his shoulder and clutching his Transfiguration book closer to his chest, accepting the challenge. “We’ll see about that!”

Completely disregarding the fact they just spent three hours side by side for double potions, Harry is absolutely curious where the other student spends his lunch hour. He can’t realistically speak for the first month of school, but he can certainly say that for the last two days he hasn’t seen Tom in the Great Hall to take his meals. That’s just absurd. Unless his friend survives solely on nutrient potions, when and where did he eat?

“You know I play Quidditch, I’m not exactly out of shape,” Harry points out, refusing to dwell on the fact that his voice was teetering on the edge of breathlessness. Harry spares a glance at the doors to the Great Hall as they pass it, cementing his belief that Tom didn’t actually eat in the communal area. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I’m going to eat lunch,” Tom says, speaking for the first time since they left class. Harry is quickly getting used to his new friend’s sparkling personality so the cutting tone does absolutely nothing for him.

“Where are we eating lunch, then?” 

Tom jerks to a halt in the middle of the deserted corridor and Harry nearly stumbles as he tries to stop his own jogging pace. Tom is sufficiently annoyed which shouldn’t amuse Harry as much as it does. “Potter, honestly-“

“Harry .”

“You should eat in the Great Hall with the rest of the student body.”

“I’m going to eat lunch with my newly acquired friend.” Harry says with a grin, ignoring the palpable irritation wafting off of the taller student.

Tom opens his mouth to undoubtedly dress Harry down, but the cheeky little expression on the other student’s face must cause him to realize that he’d be wasting his breath. Instead, Tom gets an idea from his exceptionally large brain and pulls out his wand.

“What’re you-” Harry starts to question in confusion but then barks out a startled laugh when Tom lifts his arm to wave his wand in a circle above his own head, casually chanting the word’s that successfully cause the Head Boy to blink out of his sight in the next moment.

“Tom!” Harry calls out with audible amusement. “If I find you, you have to let me have lunch with you.”

“You won’t.” Tom’s voice offers from the distance, clearly not wasting time in getting to wherever he plans to take his meal. The other student has absolutely no idea how much Harry likes a worthy challenge, but he’s on track to find out - steadfastly.  

Harry stays rooted in place for a beat or two to allow Tom time to put distance between the two of them, before giddily pulling out the Marauder's Map that he happened to have stuffed into his school bag this morning for some unknown reason. The Gryffindor mentally gives himself a pat on the back for his forethought as he tells the map his intentions and the contents bleed onto the parchment, as expected.

Tom Riddle is seen floating it’s way down a hallway on the second floor. “Merlin, you walk so bloody fast,” Harry mutters and he breaks out in a slow jog down the hallway and towards the staircase, knowing the second he hopes for the opposite, the school’s magic will resolutely change the placement of the stairs and he just simply can’t have that .

It doesn’t take the green-eyed teen long to make it to the second floor and he pulls the map back out to check for his next move. A right turn is followed by a sharp left and Harry is standing in front of a door at the end of the corridor that nearly blends into the weathered brick, which is probably done purposefully. Harry tries to rack his brain, positive he’s never seen this door before, but also that’s not surprising since the only room that’s in this dark corridor is the storage room for additional potions ingredients, per the label etched into the brick near said door.

“Tom,” Harry sing-songs as he knocks on the worn wood with a shit eating grin on his face. The door is yanked open to reveal his visibly fuming friend.

“How in Merlin’s name did you find my quarters?” Tom demands with a glare burning through the shorter male. 

Harry is unperturbed as he nimbly slips under Tom’s arm and into the other student’s domain. There are very few instances when he’s not annoyed with his lacking height, this isn’t one of those instances. “This is your room?”

“Potter, ” Tom hisses as the door closes and he stalks after Harry, side stepping the schoolbag the student plops ungracefully onto the ground as he looks around the room in interest.

The space is nearly double the size of the dorm that Harry shares with his roommates. There’s a small seating area  positioned closest to the entrance that is made up of  a reasonably sized leather loveseat and recliner combo that's turned inwardly to face a nondescript wooden coffee table. Harry takes in the dark greens, muted blacks and rich browns that make up the color scheme for the room, and he finds himself exploring more. He glosses over the small kitchenette and sends an amused flick of his eyes at the nearly collapsing bookcases full of literature and textbooks alike. In the far corner, the Head Boy also has a work desk that’s obsessively organized with scrolls and quills and open textbooks.

How on brand.

“Your own bathroom, lucky bastard,” Harry mutters to himself as he glides past the cracked door that has soft light spilling out and helps to illuminate the dim room. There’s another door that’s immediately next to the bathroom that must be the bedroom and Harry’s curiosity wants to take his feet towards the room, intending to snoop through the other students' things, but the delicious smell of food makes him follow his nose the other direction.

Harry’s self-guided tour is brought to a screeching halt when Tom’s agitation boils over. One moment he’s making an enthusiastic bee-line to the table that’s holding a steaming dish of Lancashire hotpot and the next his feet are being literally glued to the floor, causing him to nearly go tumbling to the ground in his surprise.

“I asked you a question,” Tom growls, low and dangerous as he steps in front of Harry with an expression that would likely cause a first year to wet themselves, but Harry just can’t be bothered to be intimidated right now.

Harry shrugs with an unbothered expression, discreetly fingering his wand in the wrist-holder concealed by his robes, knowing he could get himself free in a few seconds if he truly wanted to. Where’s the fun in that, though?

“We had a deal; if I find you, we have lunch together,” Harry says airily, ignoring the other student’s question for the second time in the span of three minutes. 

Tom looks to be a breath away from flinging an Unforgivable at him, so Harry shoulders on. He smiles cheekily at the taller male and tucks a strand of his wild curls behind his ear, unconsciously. “Let’s make another deal, then. We have lunch together and I’ll tell you how I found your secret lair afterwards.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as their eyes remain locked, sparkling and amused green bleeds into cold and hard brown. Harry doesn't mind, he knows that after this they both are finished with classes for the day, so why bother rushing his new friend through his inevitable acceptance? 

“Fine.” Tom spits and then spins on his heels and stalks towards the table, and Harry has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from outright laughing at the visibly bothered Slytherin.

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Harry asks, just to be annoying, already releasing his wand to free himself. Tom doesn’t respond, only jerks his chair out from the small dining table against the wall and takes his seat.

Harry soon joins him at the compact table to enjoy their first meal together, chattering happily between bites of the delicious lamb and potato dish, unbothered that he is carrying the conversation entirely on his own shoulders, only managing to get a few clenched responses from his tablemate. When Tom announces that he’s finished and is going to freshen up, Harry nods solemnly and comments that he guesses they have to talk now, forking one of the last two bites of his own lunch into his mouth.

“I only need an answer to my question,” Tom says with a hint of exasperation, pivoting and stalking towards the bathroom. 

The moment the door closes, Harry springs into action, forcing the other scoop of hotpot into his mouth and quickly rising from his seat and shucking his cloak back on. “You know, Tom, we should do this more often. Don’t you think?”

Tom’s lack of response doesn’t surprise the Gryffindor that’s making light and quick steps towards his discarded school bag and snatching the satchel up. “I mean, it’s always nice to pair a delicious meal with great company, right?”

Harry’s hand just wraps around the doorknob of the room’s entrance when the sound of the sink running turns off, causing his heart to jump into his throat. He hurriedly opens the door and flees just as Tom’s angry voice calls out behind him. “Potter!”

Harry’s full bellied laughter fills the quiet space as he runs down the corridor, having forgotten how good it felt to laugh so thoroughly.

~**~

Quidditch is driving Harry absolutely mental.

The last two weeks have been slightly…unbearable. Three separate times Harry was physically incapable of pulling himself out of bed to make it to practice on time, waving off raised eyebrows and narrowed gazes at his out of character behavior. If anyone noticed him delegating his usual tasks to his co-captain, Katie Bell, no one said a word. When Ginny and Ron called for him to stay behind with them for some extra practice ahead of the first game of term, Harry gave a half-arsed excuse all while quickly fleeing the pitch. 

Traditionally, the days leading up to any match are met with longer practices, grueling drills and taxing exercises. Harry cannot be bothered in the slightest and this earns him a concerned talking to from his best mate. While the brunet said all the right things (Yes, I still love quidditch. No, I’m not going through anything at home. Yes, my classes are manageable. No, I’m not going barmy.), his bored and slightly exasperated tone sounded glaringly apparent to his own ears. Yet, Ron took his words to heart, believing what he wanted to believe, and then clapped him on the shoulder saying it’s probably just stress before he then trotted off to lunch with a grin.

I want to quit, Harry thinks miserably to himself as he flops into the vacant seat that’s quickly becoming his seat in their study spot. 

Faced with the thought of having to get through months more of quidditch before he could finally be done, Harry’s sour mood deepens. If he even entertained the idea of quitting now, he’s positive his team, his entire house, and likely the majority of the school would be in an uproar and that’s just not a headache he wants to deal with - ever . It only makes matters worse that Moony and Siri have already promised to be in attendance for the first game of the season, eager to cheer him on. Harry’s privately thankful that his parents are off grid for an obscure mission, because the added pressure of his quidditch obsessed father and his ever-proud mother would have driven him loony.

“Out with it,” Tom says sharply, snapping Harry’s attention from his transfiguration essay, quill frozen above the parchment, to lock gazes with his irritated table mate. The Gryffindor hadn’t even said anything for the past thirty minutes, so he hasn’t the faintest idea what could be eating at the other student.

“If you sigh again I’ll hex you,” Tom threatens, looking fit to throttle Harry with his bare hands.

“You’ve been looking for a reason to do that for ages,” Harry quips back, a small smile working its way onto his face. 

Harry’s extremely amused with the other student in general. Now that it’s clear Harry’s unshakable, Tom has resigned himself to ignoring the other teen when he’s done speaking or glaring murderously when he’s confronted with the fact that his cutting words and antisocial disposition aren’t going to send the chatterbox running for the hills.

Tom’s agitated expression doesn’t waiver as he waits for the inevitable assault of endless talking. The sooner he lets the other student say his peace, the sooner Tom gets to go back to his work.

“Who knows, maybe I’m getting tired of quidditch,” Harry says in an airy fashion, mouth poised to quickly follow up his statement, making it clear he’s joking when Tom responds without missing a beat.

“Then quit,” he says simply, looking annoyed that something so seemingly trivial was interrupting his studying. Tom picks up his quill, fully intending to focus back on his studies now that he’s done his part in starving off teenage drama-fueled depression.

“I-I was joking,” Harry says quickly, nearly having a heart attack at someone casually giving him the OK to quit something that's been so thoroughly attached to his identity for as long as he can remember. He’s always spent his free time (and not-so-free time) immersing in quidditch and even though he’s coming to genuinely detest even the word quidditch, what else is he supposed to do with his time if he were to quit? It’s glaringly clear at that moment that Harry doesn’t have any other hobbies or pastimes.

Tom glances up at him briefly, clearly delivering his final words on the topic for the remainder of their study session in a clipped fashion. “No, you weren’t.”

Harry gaps at the other student who goes back to his work without seeming to care that he just did something that one of his closest friends hadn’t been able to do - see through his bullshit. If Tom feels the Gryffindor’s softening gaze linger on him for a long moment afterwards, he doesn’t show it as he prints his perfect script onto the parchment.

“No, I wasn’t.” Harry says softly, picking up his quill to finish his essay.

He could quit and the world wouldn’t end, right? The team would surely continue to flourish under the leadership of Katie Bell; they all deserve to be led by someone who looks at the beloved sport as something other than a nuisance, an obligation. His parents and Siri likely wouldn’t even find out until Yule holidays, as they habitually maintained heavy workloads up until the celebratory season in an attempt to clock-in some family time with their son and godson. Remus has always been indifferent to quidditch, only having interest when his nephew was playing, so the man would be the least likely to be upset that he quit. The biggest obstacle in his path to ridding himself of quidditch would be the two people he wanted to have to explain himself to the least . 

Ron and Ginny. 

Both Weasley siblings were steadfastly obsessed with the sport and would absolutely cause an uproar the moment they became aware of what Harry had done. The thought of continuing to torture himself solely for the happiness and Ron and Ginny didn’t appeal to him at all. Without sparing more time agonizing over his clear desire, Harry abandons his transfiguration essay in favor of penning two short notes, one to his head of house informing her of his decision to no longer play quidditch, recommending Katie Bell as his capable replacement and another to the likely soon-to-be captain bringing her into the loop and giving congratulations and best wishes.

“Dobby,” Harry says in a lowered voice, summoning the Hogwarts house elf that’s doted on him since the moment he entered Hogwarts and still cries every year when Harry gives him Yule gifts of clothing and sweets. Harry doesn’t pay any mind to Tom’s curious expression as the elf pops into the quiet space with bright eyes and a blinding smile.

“Harry Potter bees needing Dobby?” the elf asks eager, happy to help one of his favorite wizards.

There is a soft smile on Harry’s face as he’s warmed with affection for the small creature. He nods and holds out the two missives with their recipients’ names printed in his slightly sloppy script. “Can you deliver these to Professor McGonagall and Katie Bell, please?”

Dobby nods enthusiastically and then pauses to send the Potter Heir a cheeky side-eye. “Harry Potter pays Dobby?”

Harry chuckles softly and returns a nod of his own. “I’ll write to Remus and have him send more chocolate, immediately.”

Dobby grins sunnily at the young wizard and with a snap of his fingers, he disappears from where he stood, delivering the letters as requested. Harry keeps the small smile on his face as he feels the weight of his obligations lift in that moment and returns to his essay, missing the inquisitive look Tom sends his way.

“What was that about?” Tom asks eventually, when it’s clear Harry plans to complete his work without addressing the elf that had been in the room. 

“Oh nothing,” Harry says happily, flipping to the next page of his transfiguration book to search for the last of Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration that he cannot remember for the life of him. “I just quit quidditch, like you told me to.”

Tom blinks at the other student who so quickly accepted his advice and acted on it. The fact that in his seven years as a Hogwarts student Tom has never been concerned with any of his classmates to have enough interaction to actually form this type of opinion, is not lost on him. Heir Riddle has a fleeting thought that he won’t voice, not even under the Cruciatus Curse , before returning to his own work with a simple eye roll. 

Harry Potter is an interesting boy.

Expectantly, the near-praise of the other student is quickly wiped away when Harry gasps softly and turns to look at Tom with an elated smile. 

“Now we can have breakfast together too since I don’t have quidditch practice anymore!”

Tom doesn’t even bother to hold in his grimace, damning himself for not minding his own business and allowing Harry wallow in his sour mood uninterrupted. The other student's expression effectively sets Harry off, causing him to dissolves into giggles, clearly not growing tired of annoying his new friend just yet.

~**~